


Cool Cats

by LustMonster



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustMonster/pseuds/LustMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21572837#t21572837</p>
<p>Charles and Erik dabbling in marijuana, shotgunning and stoned sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool Cats

It was one of those things which came up between them somewhere between their fifth and eighth games. Charles was leaning back in his seat, scotch held precariously in his slender hand, eyes tracing across the board intently while Erik’s memorized the planes of his face, the delicate lines which created him.

 

Erik had been the one to bring it up in and off-hand sort of manner, perhaps too scathing based on Charles’ reaction.

 

“I swear Sean is always high.”

 

In seconds, Charles’ attention was focused wholly upon Erik with laser intensity. “What makes you say that, my friend?” He asked carefully and the elder man shrugged.

 

“He’s all . . . ‘dude’ and ‘man’ and such, always so lackadaisical and—”

 

“Oh, Erik.” Charles’ smile was gentle, private, but there was something in his expression which made Erik feel at a disadvantage, as though Charles were laughing at some joke only he knew. “Sean is merely, as Darwin would say, a ‘chill cat.’ Were he high, it would be quite different.” He chuckled. “You sound quite the old man, my friend. I could have sworn I heard a ‘kids these days’ somewhere beneath ‘get off my lawn.’”

 

Erik cleared his throat in embarrassment and looked back at the board. “I simply—”

 

“Have no experience with marijuana.” Charles took a long pull from his glass before tipping one of Erik’s rooks with a rogue grin.

 

The magnetist bristled immediately. “And you have?”

 

“Erik . . .” Charles chuckled and spread his fingers across his lap. “I went to uni with Raven. Of course I have.” His smile turned fondly nostalgic as he regarded his companion across the table. “In all honesty, I have quite a bit.”

 

“You.” Erik stared in disbelief. It was hard to imagine Charles allowing himself to lose some of his iron control. Even when it came to drinking, the telepath never consumed to excess, cutting himself off after a slight buzz.

 

“Me.” He was leaning forward, now, the gears in his head working so furiously Erik could almost feel the grind of their metal. “I find the experience to be quite . . . educational.”

 

“Educational,” Erik repeated flatly and Charles nodded.

 

“And sensuous. It has been used, in some cultures, as an aphrodisiac. Among other things.” He was leaning back again, crossing his legs at the ankles. “And the history stretches ever on.”

 

Erik cleared his throat.

 

“The more you know, yes?” Charles winked and stretched out, sinuous and suggestive. “You could like it.”

 

“You want me to get high,” Erik said slowly and the telepath was shrugging.

 

“Why not? It would be . . . an experience. Something to share amid friends.”

 

“Maybe somed—”

 

“Please, Erik. I’ve already asked Raven to roll us something delightful. We can come back to the study, no one else need know.”

 

“Except Raven.”

 

“I didn’t include you.”

 

“But she—”

 

“You hunt Nazis for a living but you worry what teenagers will think of you if they found out you smoked a joint?” Charles teased, already standing and Erik followed.

 

“When you put it that way,” Erik grumbled and the flash of delight across the other man’s face was enough to steel his resolve. He stayed put as Charles went to fetch the joint and what he laughingly called “munchies,” pacing before the fireplace.

 

Charles was quick and quiet, closing the door with his foot before setting down a pitcher of water, soda, candy, fresh popcorn, a bag of potato chips and other snack-ish odds and ends, a fat, tightly rolled joint behind his ear.

 

The way he smiled made Erik’s heart leap, the easy joy enough to make it soar.

 

“I’ll take the first hit,” he said warmly, “show you what’s what, then pass it on, yes?”

 

Erik nodded, watching, leaned against the mantle, as Charles held the blunt between his lips and lit the tip, inhaling slowly as the acrid scent of it crept toward Erik’s nostrils. _Once you have it in, suck it down and hold it as long as you can_ , etched itself into Erik’s shields and he nodded, observing the telepath as he exhaled a cloud of smoke before passing it on.

 

The taste was almost off-putting enough that Erik called off the whole encounter, but the way Charles’ doe eyes were staring at him intently made it impossible.

 

“This one should pack an extra punch,” he said lightly, “so you actually feel it. You sometimes don’t, your first time. It’s a shame.” Nimble fingers were unbuttoning his cardigan, leaving Charles in his stiff white shirt, the sleeves seeming to roll themselves up beyond his elbows. There was an electricity to Charles’ eyes as he watched Erik take his second hit, sinking down to sit before the fire and pass it back.

 

“Let me know when you feel something,” Charles said gently before he took a long drag.

 

“What should I be looking out for?”

 

_It depends on the person, really_. He winked and leaned back on his hand, head tilting back. He exhaled smoke rings and passed the joint back.

 

And so it went for the next several passes until Charles was sitting up and staring at Erik with a broad grin.

 

“I want to try something,” he announced, sitting up and shuffling forward on his knees until they collided with Erik’s legs.

 

“What is it?” The magnetist asked, and Charles shook his head.

 

“You just have to let me.”

 

“I don’t have to—”

 

“We’re trying new things, boldly going.”

 

Erik was certain this beautiful little thing would be the death of him, but he nodded. “Alright.”

 

“You just . . . follow my lead, alright?” Charles was nodding as he inhaled, then leaning in, thumb pressing against Erik’s lower lip and teasing his mouth into an ‘o’ before he brushed his own over it and exhaled the smoke in a stream, transferring it between them. Reflexively, Erik inhaled, choking some in his surprise as Charles was retreating for another hit.

 

“What the fuck?” He demanded, clearing his throat and Charles blushed.

 

“It’s called shotgunning,” he explained, “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

 

“Oh.”

 

There was no other way to respond. How could he?

 

Then Charles was coming in again, squeezing Erik’s jaw gently as he passed the smoke between their mouths.

 

Charles’ lips were warm and dry, ripe enough to burst when Erik swiped his thumb across the lower and stole a kiss in earnest, the sensation sending prickles down his legs.

 

“I feel something.”

 

The noise of triumph which left Charles was enough to make him repeat the kiss, though to his dismay, Charles was the one pulling back with an embarrassed smile.

 

“We need to finish this first,” he said gently. “There’s time enough for kissing later.”

 

Erik grinned and nodded slowly, taking the joint in one hand and tangling his free fingers in Charles’ hair, taking in a mouthful of smoke before blowing it past the Brit’s lips. It was hot, there, in that shared space, body heat and heat from the fire making him feel as though there was a furnace in his stomach.

 

“When did you put music on?’

 

Charles was giggling, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he answered, “two records ago, darling.”

 

“Mm . . .” Erik wasn’t sure if he nodded or when the joint left his fingers for Charles’, but he was beyond silly annoyances. At the end of each blink, he felt as though her were coming up from a restful sleep, though he was certain he had stayed one hundred percent conscious all the while as Charles blew smoke against his lips. There was skin beneath his fingers, smooth and freckled, just as warm as Erik himself. He thought Charles was moaning, but that could have been a trumpet.

 

All he truly knew was that he could _feel_.

 

It was as though every sense had been heightened, things which generally fell into the background apparent, like the way his shirt and trousers rested against his skin, the elastic stretch of his socks and the slight pinch in his shoes.

 

“I don’t mind if you want to take your clothes off,” Charles said pleasantly, and his voice was clouds racing across the sky and mist which hung over the ground on gloomy mornings, gentle and dewy and omnipresent. “They can be quite . . . cumbersome.” He smiled and Erik couldn’t place when he’d stripped down to his undershorts, expanses of pale skin on display for his viewing pleasure, though his face was clouded behind the smoke.

 

Charles’ hands were gentle, if a tad out of sorts, as he helped Erik get undressed, taking hits all the while like an expert.

 

Erik smiled at the crestfallen expression as he stole the joint back, only to lean forward, tipping Charles’ chin and letting his mouth hover just above the telepath’s as he let the smoke flow between them. Shotgunning with Charles was more enjoyable than he had expected, tantalizing as he resisted a kiss, though with each exchange they grew closer until the telepath was laying back, his legs curled around Erik’s waist as he loomed above.

 

The joint was burning low and Erik was sure he could feel the music as it stroked over his skin, heady and insistent. _Love me so just as though I’m the o-o-o-oonly one . . . kiss me strong, kiss me long til the end of time . . ._

 

The music pulsed through his veins, a heartbeat only he could feel.

 

Somewhere between Paul Anka and Billie Holiday, Charles was pulling a stub away and tossing it in the fire with sweet whispers.

 

“How do you feel?” Erik asked, echoing the words his companion had been chanting since they began and Charles smiled dreamily.

 

“Quite like a damp marshmallow,” he said happily before leaning up to kiss Erik in sooth, molding their bodies together. The sensation was enough to make him groan loudly and grind his hips against Charles’. He could no longer distinguish whether the hunger growing within him was for actual sustenance or for the beauty beneath him.

 

Every movement was drawn-out as lethargy settled in their bones, as though they were attempting to move through water. For that, each was doubly purposeful as they slid together effortlessly. Erik’s mouth was dry, tongue heavy, the words he wanted to whisper leaving him confused, but Charles seemed to understand him all the same.

 

_There’s no lube in here._ The telepath admitted but Erik was flying too high to be deterred, regarding the pile of snacks and seizing on a lemon, struggling to get the coins in his pocket to cooperate and fetch, the little lemon puttering through the air, dipping and diving its way over with Erik's control not nearly so iron tight as usual.

 

_You’re not planning to . . .?_

**_Sour things make the mouth water_**. Erik chuckled. **_My academic should know that_**.

 

Charles blushed and shrugged innocently as Erik pulled the lemon apart and sucked at it until he’d mustered enough spit to slide a finger into Charles with some ease.

 

He still wasn’t sure when sex had become the natural turn of events, but Charles was writhing beneath him at the sensation of two—two?—fingers in him, panting and grasping at the carpet.

 

“Did you know,” he huffed, “my great-grandfather a f-few— _oh, there_ —generations ba- _ack_ brought this rug from— _Erik!_ —Persia?”

 

“Is this what synesthesia feels like?” He asked hazily, licking his dry lips as if he could wipe the taste of his words away.

 

“Oh, _darling_ ,” Charles moaned, and it tasted of fresh baked cake and lady-fingers. Erik buried his face against Charles’ back as he thrust three fingers in and out of him in no rush, staring at every pore intently, feeling flesh like satin against his lips. “ _Please_ , Erik, ple- _ea_ se.”

 

Charles’ speech was halted, appearing to be having just as much trouble with his tongue as Erik was, the desperation tasting of limes and cheap tequila.

 

There was no way to properly answer the plea but to let his fingers slide out of Charles’ tight, wet heat with a long, drawn-out sucking sound just to fumble at replacing them with his cock. Beneath him, Charles was writhing, back arching as the rug rasped against his skin, nails digging into Erik’s skin and leaving behind crescent moon gashes.

 

Then he was sliding home and the telepath’s entire body seized up as if suspended in time, silent and unmoving. Erik frowned, squeezing Charles’ hips, feeling the taut skin pressing down, practically melding with his fingers. He could feel the blooming bruise, and Charles released a moan, sinking back down to Earth and laughing gently, eyes dreamy and lust-filled.

 

“ _Move_ ,” he commanded and who was Erik not to obey? The sensations thrumming through him were enough to make his knees quake, body curl and tense lest he embarrass himself by coming prematurely.

 

_Heightened senses_ , drifted against his defenses, cradled by a glimmering dove’s feather. _Makes the sex that much more intense_.

 

The twitching of his eye seemed intended as a wink, but appeared more like a muscle spasm. Erik grinned and bent to run the flat of his tongue across the perked tip of a dusky nipple, watching intently as Charles’ stubby nails dug into the carpet.

 

He was distantly aware of Charles begging in that sweet, husky voice of his, muffled as though he were shouting to Erik from the other side of a chasm. If he put his mind to it, he was certain he could disentangle the knots and mysteries of the universe at large, if only that were half so tantalizing as driving into Charles like he was made to do so. In waves, it felt as though Erik were floating outside his own body, or could split his awareness, part of him focusing on fucking rug burn into Charles’ back, the other adrift on some distant current amid the stars.

 

Charles was a star.

 

Ever burning brightly and twirling his way through space, twinkling and winking and making up part of a larger whole in his own distinctive manner. Charles-the-Star was the center of his own grand constellation, obviously, perhaps one which resembled a strand of DNA. And there he would be, a pulsing blue star in the middle of it all, a focal point for astronomers of all calibers.

 

And Erik, Erik was close enough to burn in his gravitational pull yet somehow a million miles away, observing himself being bunt to a crisp and the entirety of it was . . . surreal. That, in itself, was unsurprising given that certain surreal quality about Charles as a whole ever since the day they’d met when Charles had pulled him out of a nasty riptide at the beach before he’d ever opened his mouth to speak of the school he intended to build or revealed his telepathy. If being a mutant was an integral part of Charles’ being, his surreal, starriness was the very crux of his being. Erik would make the argument that the telepath was even more magnetic than—

 

“Get back here.” Charles breathed against his cheek and Erik dropped back into his body with a groan as Charles tightened around his cock. “Look at me, look a— _oh god_ —at me when you f-fuck me.”

 

Erik managed to swallow and nodded in time with his thrusts, keeping his eyes locked with Charles’ as the telepath grew closer and closer to his climax.

 

When Charles came, it was as if the world seized and orgasmed with him.

 

Or perhaps that was just Erik.

 

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, vision whiting out as he tried to come back to his senses, shuddering from the force of it all.

 

“ _Charles_ ,” he gasped, the telepath’s luminescent gaze falling on him, questioning. “I’m so hungry.”

 

The laugh which rumbled out of the Brit seemed to consume his entire body and Erik’s cock gave an aborted twitch as muscles flexed and relaxed around it.

 

Before he could comprehend everything happening, he was in a sitting position watching Charles’ ass as the telepath leaned away to grab the snacks. Semen leaked a slow, white line down the inside of Charles’ thigh, which seemed to only barely register when the telepath sat back down and handed his companion a bag of chips.

 

“Eat and be merry.” He smiled around a mouthful of popcorn and leaned back on the rug, sweat glistening across his pale body. “And maybe I’ll let you have another round.”

 

His eyes were alight with promise and Erik was certain he could get used to this. 


End file.
